


He Scratches at the Wall

by stephtron312



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Horror, Multi, Paranormal
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-13
Updated: 2014-12-29
Packaged: 2018-03-01 06:04:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2762408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stephtron312/pseuds/stephtron312
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“It was probably abandoned since long before the turn. But it seems sturdy,” Michonne reassured the group...</p>
<p>The survivors seek refuge in an eerie house that seems plagued by more than just walkers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Scratch

**Author's Note:**

> I've been fiddling with the horror genre for a bit, but this is my first real attempt! Hope you like it! I appreciate any feedback or criticism :)

The wind whipped around them as they halted in the banks of the highway.

“This storm is going to break soon, and I’d rather not be standing around with my dick in my hand while it does,” Abraham said, shifting in an antsy fashion.

“Stop bellyachin’,” Daryl groaned, having had enough with the man’s complaints, “Rick’ll be back in a minute.” The caravan was forced to pull over when the rain became torrential. Lumping together inside the vehicles, they waited for Rick, Glenn, and Michonne, who were scouting for some shelter in the desolate countryside.

Michonne’s figure ran out from the trees, waving them forward. She shouted over the howling storm, “C’mon! We found a house!” Their soaking bodies shivered in the beating of the cold wetness, the harsh wind lashing at their exposed skin, as they ran through the woods and into a clearing.

At the center of an overgrown and weeded meadow sat an unassuming two-storied house. A large oak tree shadowed its right side, a rope swing hanging from it. The porch was crumbling and holed in many areas, including the broken stairs. Tall blades of weeds hung over the porch railing. Muddied shingles and shutters hung at odd angles, and mildew infested much of the left siding, tinting it green.

“It was probably abandoned since long before the turn. But it seems sturdy,” Michonne reassured the group as they assessed the structure. Rick appeared then in the doorway, beckoning for them.

Carol held back as they ran inside, her stomach twisting.

“C’mon!” Daryl shouted back to her, waiting as she caught up and he ushered her inside. The interior was coated in dust. Shards of glass crunched under their feet from a large and decorated broken mirror in the foyer. To the right was a dining room, and to the left a living room. At the end of the hallway was a brown door. The kitchen was off to the right of the door. Much of the furniture was overturned or smashed, but there was plenty of space for their large group of sixteen. A staircase led up to the second floor which hosted three bedrooms.

“Doesn’t seem to be any running water,” Rick explained as the group stayed crowded in the entranceway, “We haven’t really picked through the place, just checked to make sure it was clear of walkers. We should spread out, try to scavenge what we can.”

“Where are all the walker bodies?” Carl asked quietly as the group dispersed.

“There weren’t any,” Rick said, looking at him wearily, “There wasn’t anything here.”

* * *

 

“I don’t like this,” Carol voiced, hesitantly as she searched the kitchen area with Michonne and Sasha.

“It’s just for the night,” Michonne answered, offering Carol a reassuring glance, “The storm will pass and we’ll be out of here.”

Carol studied her, “But you feel it too, right? It’s weird here.”

“We lived in a prison; I’ve slept in death row. Nothing can be weirder than that,” Sasha added, rummaging through empty cabinets.

“Yeah, you’re right,” Carol gave the younger woman a small smile before reaching up for a cabinet over the sink. A small dark figure scurried out when she opened it, causing a surprised shriek to escape her. Michonne drew her sword immediately as all three women jumped back.

“It’s just a rat,” Carol breathed in relief, laughing slightly.

“What’s that?” Michonne pointed the end of the katana towards a small wooden box that sat at the edge of the cabinet.

Cautiously, Carol picked it up, and brought it over to the other women to exam. It fit in the size of her palm. Carol slid it open as the other two peered over her shoulders. Inside was a small frayed and torn photograph of a young man in a military uniform, and a single yellowed tooth.

“Ew,” Sasha scrunched up her nose, and Carol laughed.

“Really? Of all the things we see on a daily basis and you’re grossed out by a tooth?”

Sasha shuddered, “I hate teeth.”

“That looks like its civil war era,” Michonne said, fingering the picture as Carol held it up.

Carol and Sasha gazed at her bemusedly, to which she shrugged, “I took a course on war photography in college.”

“What are you guys doing?” Noah’s quiet voice made them jump again. Carol shoved the picture in the dark casing. She reached up over the sink to put the box back in the cabinet when the faucet turned on, splashing her shirt with water.

“Ack!” she yelped jumping back, dropping the box.

“I thought Rick said there wasn’t any water…” Sasha said, clutching the iron poker she had equipped to herself, eyeing the muddy black-filled sink with unease.

“Guess he was wrong,” Michonne reached out to turn the water off, but no matter which way she pushed or pulled the handle, the volume staid the same, “Huh…must be a busted pipe. Or maybe a blockage that water got passed.”

When she stepped back the water shut off. Carol rolled up her sleeve, intent on wading through to find the wooden box she had dropped but Michonne’s fingers were around her forearm, “Just…leave it.” She nodded and the three women followed Noah to the dining room.

* * *

 

Upstairs, Daryl and Rick scouted the bedrooms.

“There were no walkers?”

“There aren’t even any bodies in the yard,” Rick said, looking out to the vast meadow from a window.

“There’s always at least one walker.”

“I know. But not this time. Maybe someone had just cleared out and moved on before we got here…”

Daryl shifted his eyebrows, shooting a Rick a quizzical look beneath his long bangs. Rick shrugged, knowing that explanation was a little too convenient.

Scratch

The pair turned, alarmed, and faced the closet door at the other end of the room. Rick approached it, as Daryl held the crossbow up giving the sheriff a nod that he was ready to fire. Rick silently counted to three before grabbing the brass knob and pulling. But it was locked.

Scratch

Rick yanked again but the door wouldn’t budge. Daryl let his arm fall and joined his friend at the door, giving a half hearted tug.

“Must be a walker. Someone probably locked it in.”

“I ain’t sleeping in here with a walker,” Rick grunted as he kicked at the door.

Scratch

Daryl swept the room with his eyes, and started for a small wooden armoire. He threw open the doors to find some clothes hanging. A glimmer of something caught his eye and he shifted the clothes. Clink. Something fell to the floor of the armoire, and Daryl bent down, thrusting his arm into the darkness and feeling for what he was hoping was a key. A cold, hard pressure wrapped around his wrist and he snapped his arm back with such a force that he landed on his ass.

“What the fuck?!” he yelped, picking up his bow and aiming it. He waited for whatever took a hold of him to crawl out, but the room was still.

Rick gaped at him, “You alright?”

“Something grabbed me,” Daryl spat out angrily. The armoire wasn’t big enough for a whole walker to be hiding in, unless it had been a child. Getting to his feet, eyes set with determination, Daryl moved towards the armoire once more. Swiping the clothes forcefully to one side, and then to the other, Daryl found the space to be empty of both walkers and keys.

Swift running footsteps took off down the hallway, distracting the men.

“Carl?” Rick yelled out.

“What?!” his teenaged son’s voice bellowed from the floor below, much farther away than the footsteps.

Rick and Daryl looked at each other, before Daryl swung the armoire shut.

Scratch

“We cleared out the other bedrooms. There wasn’t anything in them though, just some old clothes and some personal items. Old pictures and books,” Glenn appeared in the doorway with Maggie.

“There’s a walker in this one,” Rick told them. The pair looked around anxiously, but saw nothing.

“Where?” Maggie asked.

Rick pointed the barrel of his gun to the closet door.

“It’s locked though. Can’t get in to kill the damn thing,” Daryl explained.

“How do you know there’s a walker then?” Glenn asked slowly, not sure if he just wasn’t picking up on an obvious clue.

“Can hear it scratching,” Daryl answered matter of factly.

The room fell silent as the group listened. “I don’t hear anything,” Maggie said after a few quiet seconds.  
“Fine,” Daryl bit, “then you two can sleep in here.” He nudged passed the couple, his boots pounding as he hurried down the staircase.

“I’m so tired, I don’t even care if there is an actual walker in there,” Maggie dropped her pack onto the bed, a cloud of dust rushing up around it.

Rick kept an accusing eye on the door as he stepped out of the room. “Just…be careful,” he gave the couple a final warning before rejoining the rest of the group on the floor below.

* * *

Dropping the few items they were able to gather at the center of the dining room table, the group harkened at the long agonizing night they were in for. Rosita had scrounged up a lone can of cranberry sauce, and Tara had found a piece of pipe to add to their arsenal. There was some fabric Tyreese had found that would be useful for darning or to be made into a sling for Judith.

“We found something,” Carl piped up, nudging Father Gabriel forward. The man produced a small but ornate key from his pocket, plopping it onto the wooden table.

“Think that could be for the closet?” Rick asked.

“That key is too big for a regular closet lock,” Eugene answered, shifting uncomfortably, “Probably for that door down the hall.”

“Maybe it’s a pantry. This can isn’t going to make it around to all of us. We should check it,” Abraham advised, but no one made a grab for the key.

Hairs stood abruptly at Carol’s nape, and she turned with her rifle in hand. She stared at the open doorway that led back into the kitchen. Daryl’s hand reached out for her shoulder and she jumped.

“You okay?” he asked, gently, and Carol realized the group was staring at her.

“I felt…something,” she looked back towards the doorway, a sinking feeling dragging through her belly.

“So…the possible pantry?” Abraham voiced, trying to direct the conversation back.

“If you want to check out what’s behind that door so much, then do it yourself,” Sasha snapped, picking up the key and tossing it at him. The group listened as his footfalls pounded down the hall and he grumbled incoherently. He pushed the key towards the keyhole, but it wouldn’t go in. He tried again and again but the key wouldn’t stay straight enough to make it in. Giving up after a minute he stomped back into the dining area, proclaiming, “Damn thing won’t fit.” He tossed the key back onto the table.

“Let’s just focus on sleeping then. We’ll head out first thing in the morning, maybe Daryl will be able to get us something to eat before we leave tomorrow,” Michonne directed, gaining a nod from the archer, and the shuffling of the rest of the group as their affirmation.

Carol was still standing with her back to the group, holding a protective stance, when Daryl shifted closer to her, saying quietly, “Thought we could grab one of the bedrooms upstairs.”

She looked at him, a twinkle of mischief in her blue eyes hiding behind the alertness, “You don’t want to stay down here with the rest of them?”

He toed the floor, “It was actually Rick’s idea. Said we deserved some privacy. ‘Sides, him and Michonne are taking one room with Judith, and Glenn and Maggie’s got the other one. No one’s claimed the last one…so might as well be us.”

Carol couldn’t help but smile fully despite the unease that being away from the safety of the larger group was giving her. But if there was one thing she couldn’t resist it was promised alone time with Daryl Dixon. Rick was right about the lack of privacy since the group started their nomadic trek towards Virginia, and Daryl and Carol weren’t the couple to knock their boots together in front of everyone, unlike some other duos in the group. Everyone had been subjected to Abraham’s pearly ass shining in the moonlight, or even Glenn and Maggie’s sweaty groans that they “tried” to keep quiet. But Carol and Daryl shied away from that attention, taking a slower path to bring their relationship to fruition. They were just getting comfortable with each other; they certainly weren’t ready to let everything hang out in front of the others. The only other couple who shared their fair share of stolen glances was Rick and Michonne, who kept their status under wraps in fear of Carl not taking to it well, despite the fact that kid had figured out their feelings towards each other long before the two had admitted it to themselves.

Daryl took Carol’s pack and reached for her gun, but she clung to it.

“Place is safe, ain’t nothing here except a walker holed up in a closet…you don’t have to carry it with you,” he said, trying to soothe her, not used to seeing her so jittery. It was a jarring reminder of the woman he had first met, fearful and shaky.

“I know,” she sighed, “but I’ll feel better if I can keep it on me.”

“You got your knife…”he pointed to the blade that never left her hip.

Carol let her shoulders sag as she consented, releasing the rifle from her clutches and handing it over to him. Daryl shouldered their equipment and hurried up to place it in their bedroom.

* * *

“Wonder who this guy is,” Noah said absently pulling a sheet off a portrait that hung in the living room.

Michonne looked at the portrait, and then called out for Carol to come over. She did and they examined it together. “Isn’t that the same guy from the picture?” Michonne asked.

Carol nodded, “I think so. Got the same mustache, same age seems like. This one’s just not in military uniform.”

“This doesn’t make any sense,” Michonne pondered, “I don’t think this house is old enough for this portrait to be here.”

Tyreese, who stood on Carol’s other side now also staring at the painting, “Could be a family heirloom, passed down until it landed here.”

“I ain’t sleeping in here if that things gonna be staring at me all night. Cover that shit up,” Abraham huffed as he sat on couch with a matching sheet cast over it. Noah picked up the white cloth and tried to throw it back over, but it fluttered to the ground. He looked back at the redhead, and held his shoulders up in a fluster. Abraham groaned then stood, snatching up the cloth and flinging it at the portrait but again it didn’t catch.

His eyes narrowed dangerously as he growled, “Fine be stubborn.” Grabbing the bottom corners of the frame Abraham twisted, pulling the portrait off the wall and shoved it into a corner before he stomped back to the couch. Noah watched as the portrait seemed to shudder.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading :) There's a little smut in this so if that's not your bag just skip the second to last section

Father Gabriel’s eyes scanned his hand written Bible as he huddled in the corner. It was the only thing he took from the church before setting out in this new world for the first time. He couldn’t concentrate on the passages he had so diligently copied over the past year. The houses’ groans as the weather crashed into the structure were too loud, and sounded too much like the screams that never quite left his head.

“Noah!” Carl shouted from the hallway, “Check this out!”

The boy had been more outgoing and adventurous since Noah had joined their brood. Having a companion of similar age was sparking the life back into him after the hole that losing Beth left behind. He was always eager to impress the slightly older boy and he held out a tattered leather bound book to him. Father Gabriel watched as Noah reluctantly took the diary and turned it over in his hands.

“Wonder if it belonged to the guy in the portrait,” Carl suggested urging Noah to open and read from the frayed, yellowing pages.

“Books can be powerful,” Father Gabriel voiced, standing from his seated position, “Especially a diary. You need to be careful before you let their secrets spill out into the natural world.” He walked to the boys, eyeing the object in question.

Noah contemplated the priests’ advice before opening up to a random page and reading aloud, “May 9th, 1865. It has been a month since the war and not an hour goes by that I do not hear the canons and the shrieking of my comrades falling around me. The union has won and yet we are worse off than ever. I see the way Marietta looks at me, she is fearful. The children are fearful. I have not spilled my brothers’ blood for my family to live in a nightmarish hellscape. I shall free them. I shall free them. I shall free them…” Noah rifled through several pages after, all filled with the same repeating four words. Flipping back to the front cover he ran his finger over the engraved name. Jedediah H. Roth.

The staircase moaned beside them and the priest turned to it. He muttered under his breath, “There’s certainly something here.” Turning back to the corner of the living room that he had inhabited he picked up his Bible once more, burying himself within it.

Noah handed the book back to Carl. The younger boy rifled through it, stopping on the final page, “Wait.” He showed the page to Noah.

_December 15th, 1978_

_Vincent told me he was leaving tomorrow for another hunting trip with Stu. He wants to take the babies with him. I know it isn’t true, there isn’t any hunting trip. They’re scared of me. They shouldn’t be. They shouldn’t have to be afraid. I’ll make it right. I’ll make it right. I’ll make it right. I’ll make it right. I’ll make it right._

“Who do you think wrote that? It’s definitely not Jed…”

“Dude!” Noah pushed the book away from him, clearly shaken, “Just put it back where you found it!”

Carl eyed him dubiously.

“It’s weird,” Noah mustered up his strongest glare, trying to conceal himself underneath some bravado.

“Living in a world with walkers is weird. This is cool! It’s like a mystery,” Carl held onto the book, fitting it into his back pocket.

“Whatever, keep that away from me,” Noah huffed, walking back towards Father Gabriel and the living room. He stopped when he eyed the portrait that Abraham had torn off the wall earlier. It was facing out, and the steely green eyes focused on him. Noah abruptly turned to walk up the stairs, knocking into Tara as she descended the last step.

“Hey…you okay?” she said. Balling his hands into frustrated fists Noah groaned and stalked into the kitchen instead where Eugene was contemplating the clogged sink.

“What’s up with him?” Tara asked Carl, throwing a thumb in the disgruntled boy’s direction.

Carl shrugged, “He’s scared of this place. Thinks there’s a ghost.”

Tara wiggled her fingers in Carl’s face, making an “oooooh” sound. Carl smirked knocking her fingers away. She slung an arm around the kid, laughing.

* * *

*

“We’ve only got two things of formula left,” Tyreese said, setting the two cans on the table. Judith cooed, reaching for them from Michonne’s lap as they sat around the dining room table.

“That’ll last her for the night, but tomorrow we’ll need to find something,” Carol sighed, resting her cheek in her hand.

“We need to get that door open,” Michonne insisted, eyeing the key that hadn’t moved from Abraham’s previous efforts.

“We’re banking too much on whatever lies in there. I don’t think it’s locked up because there’s a hidden pantry,” Tyreese shook his head, reaching for Judith as she started to fuss at not being able to get at the cans. Gripping her in one arm he rifled through the small bag that held the meager baby supplies and pulled out a broken plastic rattle that still had one bead left in it to shake around. Judith took it happily and directly shoved it into her mouth.

Carol watched the little girl, her smile faltering, “If we don’t find something, we’re not going to make it.”

“It’s just one night,” Michonne reminded, extending her hand to touch Carol’s, but stopping just short of contact.

She looked out the window, the rain coming down in large, hard splashes, “And if it’s not? If we’re stuck here?”

Suddenly, Sasha entered the room, swinging a small red axe with a wooden handle over her shoulder, “Look what I found.” Her smile lit up her face, the familiar weight of the axe bringing her back to her days as a firefighter. She gripped the handle with confidence.

“Where was that?” Tyreese walked over to his sister, touching the sharp edge of the axe.

“There’s a back room off the kitchen,” she nodded her head in that direction, “Nothing but a bunch of boxes full of junk and a ton of paper. Carl and I were going through it and I found this beauty. Bet we can get that door open now!”

The group formed around Sasha as she stood in front of the closed door. They gave her just enough space to swing the axe and in one sweeping motion she lodged the head of it into the door frame. With great effort she pulled until it broke free and wheeled back for another swing.

Abraham huffed as the axe again was stuck in the wood and Sasha gripped it tight to pull it back out. “C’mon,” he snarled when Sasha wasn’t able to get the axe free with as much ease as before.

“I’m trying, it’s stuck,” she gritted her teeth, pulling and pulling. Sasha put a foot up against the door frame for leverage.

His patience wearing thin, Abraham started to push his way up to her from the back of the huddled mass, mumbling about doing it himself. Tyreese stood in front of him, holding a hand out to stop Abraham, aggression clouding over his dark eyes. Abraham sized him up, puffing his chest out in an act of intimidation, but Tyreese stood his ground.

Sasha panted, sweat beading at her temples. She felt the axe move slightly, and lowered her leg as she shook her hands out, hoping it was finally dislodging. Rearranging her grip on the handle she prepared herself to pull again, but the axe suddenly jerked forward, going through door and slamming Sasha’s body into it. A wisp of air blew passed before she collapsed to the ground, the axe clattering after her.

Dazed from the crash, Sasha blinked as Maggie crouched in front of her, helping to get her up.

“I’m okay, I’m fine,” she affirmed, but winced when Tyreese touched her shoulder, “It’s just bruised.”

“What happened?!” he asked, concern for his sister sweeping over as he watched her being helped over to the couch by Maggie.

“I don’t know,” she huffed, “It felt like something pulled me.”

Turning their attention back to door, Rick stepped close to it. He ran his finger over the splintered wood carefully, before trying at the handle. The door creaked open slowly. Judith began to cry and Tara walked off with her, followed closely by Noah, his fists balled at his side.

Rick pulled the door open wider and Daryl shone a flashlight into the dark void. With a short nod they decided to descend the staircase, followed by Carol, holding tightly to her knife, and Abraham who wanted to prove that his belief about a hidden stockpile of goods was correct. Michonne and Glenn looked on from the doorway.

The stairs creaked under the weight, and Daryl kept his flashlight steady until they reached the bottom. He bounced his light around the dank and musky basement. It was small, only reaching from the dining room to the kitchen. Dust collected in the beam of light as it landed on a small work bench with a few tools scattered around. There was a boiler, empty of oil, and a worn green armchair in a corner. A wooden crate with a padlock sat beside it. He turned, flashing to the other side where a single shelving unit held four cans.

Daryl scoffed, “There’s your mighty food pantry.”

Abraham grabbed up the miserable bounty. He glared at Daryl as he walked passed the others, stomping back up the stairs and pushing through to the dining room where he deposited the cans next to the cranberry sauce and baby formula.

“It’s better than nothing,” Carol said quietly, a crawling sensation working down her spine that made her want to run off after Abraham. She fought it and stood solidly behind Daryl, her knife still raised.

“Put the light over here,” Rick’s voice sounded to his right and Daryl had to squint through the dark to see him. He pointed the light to the wall where blue writing stood out against grey wall.

“Looks like spray paint,” Rick noted after observing the words, “I tired to stop him, but he kept on scratching…I wonder if that’s about the walker up in the closet.”

Daryl shrugged, “Some people like to get all poetic about this shit. Ain’t nothin’.”

Carol walked towards the writing, caught by some figures beneath it. She reached up and traced the blue paint. It was a crude drawing of two large stick people and two much smaller ones, like a child’s rendering of their family. Anguish filled her and she turned quickly, gliding past Daryl and Rick and hurrying up the stairs before the heavy air and dust choked her.

“What’d you find?” Glenn asked after her, but she was halfway to the bedrooms. He exchanged a worried look with Michonne.

* * *

*  
Peeking into the corner bedroom Michonne saw Carol seated at the edge of the bed, a hand pressed to her forehead. She looked distressed. Gently, Michonne rapt her knuckles against the door and Carol’s eyes flicked up offering her a small smile. Michonne crossed into the room, and sat beside her, the bed springs whining beneath her.

They sat for a few minutes in silence until Carol wiped at her face and turned to look at Michonne, “Do you feel sad?”

Michonne studied her, “I’m not sure what you mean.”

Sighing Carol dropped her hands to her lap, “I don’t know, but since we got into this house I just feel…sad…and heavy. You don’t feel it?”

She shrugged her dark shoulders and Carol looked around the room exasperated, “This whole damn house doesn’t make any sense. Civil war pictures, 70’s wallpaper, a locked up walker? I think there were children here…at some point at least. They died here…I can _feel_ it.”

“Did you see something in the basement?” Michonne asked, knowing how certain things could trigger her.

Carol nodded slowly and told her about the words and the stick figures. Michonne laid a gentle hand on Carol’s shoulder, allowing her friend to lean in to her and rest her head. “I’ve got first watch tonight, why don’t I just stay up for your shift too, and you can take it easy? Have some rest and this will all be gone before you know it?”

“I don’t think I’ll be getting much sleep here,” she scoffed, “But thank you, Mich.”

Michonne did her best to smile before embracing Carol fully. Carol let a few tears slip away from her and she clung to her while Michonne rubbed her back.

“Come on now,” Michonne said softly, “If we don’t get down to eat something, Abraham will have swallowed everything up just to be spiteful.” An almost chuckle sounded from Carol as she wiped her eyes again. Michonne rummaged around her bag and brought out a water bottle and a hand towel, dabbing the cool material to Carol’s cheeks.

“Better not let you go down there with red puffy eyes. Daryl’ll have my ass if he thinks I made you cry.”

Carol rolled her eyes and the two women shared a laugh. Composing themselves they hurried back down to the dining room just in time to see Abraham cracking open the last can.

* * *

*

That night Rick couldn’t keep his eyes closed for more than a few minutes before they popped back open and he stared at the ceiling. He thought about getting out of the bed, going down to check on the others and making sure Judith and Carl were asleep. He had tried to bring the baby up with him, but she began to wail vehemently when he set foot on the staircase. She was calmer when kept in the living room though, and it was decided she should sleep down there with the rest of the group where she at least seemed comfortable.

“You need to relax,” Michonne’s voice came from the doorway as she slipped into the room. She was relieved from watch, and after making sure Carl wouldn’t notice, made her way up to the room Rick had quietly reserved for them.

Rick ran his hand across his face, exhausted. Branches from the oak tree crashed into the side of the house.

“If you don’t get some sleep we’re never going to make it passed North Carolina tomorrow,” she laid on the bed, hand reaching across his chest, rubbing gently as her body slid closer to his. Warmth radiated from her, wrapping around him, and instantly calmed him like a safety blanket. Rick reached for her soft hand, pulling it up to his mouth and laying a gentle kiss to her palm before turning his head towards her.

“I don’t like the kids being so far away,” he attested, rubbing his hand up and down her forearm.

Her hand brushed against the soft hairs of his beard, “They’re fine. Tyreese and Sasha are down there and you know we’ll hear them if there’s any trouble.”

“Maybe I just need some help relaxing,” his voice was low, almost inaudible over the roaring tempest outside. With a slight smirk Rick closed the few inches between them, kissing her with a softness that always surprised Michonne. They were both so harsh and calculated, running like well-oiled machines to make their way through this new world, but in the moments of quiet between them there was always a hint of delicacy. But soon the gentleness fell away and the savagery that they were so accustomed took control as their kisses grew rougher—nipping and biting as their lips crashed together.

Rick brought his hand up to cup the side of her head. Their gnashing was fervent and his other hand trailed to the buttons of her tight pants. A moan escaped her as he wedged his fingers down to her already wet spot and he rabidly grinded against her swelling clit. Lightheadedness overwhelmed her and Michonne had to grasp a fistful of his shirt to keep steady. Fire flowed from her, running down her thighs and a need to feel him completely propelled her to straddle his hips. Together they quickly worked her pants off and cast them aside. Rick leaned up, sucking at the base of her neck and she fumbled with this buckle. She tore the button open, forcing the zipper down while simultaneously pushing his jean just far enough to release him. Without warning she grabbed his erection, and shifted him inside of her.

His fingers dug into her hips as she rocked against him, picking up speed as every move sent jolts up their spines. Muffling his grunts into her shoulder, he moved one hand to cup the right cheek of her ass and encourage the quickening pace. Rick groaned when she buried a hand into his curled hair, tugging at the rein she had on him.

It was always over too fast, their bodies stiffening with release before crumbling against each other. Trying not to pant too loudly as clothing stuck to their slick skin, they sat in position for a moment forgetting the world as their bodies pressed together. A relentless lashing of wind smacked against the window, snapping them from their hasty escape.

Unwillingly, Michonne climbed away from Rick’s lap, walking the few steps across the room to retrieve her pants, her underwear entangled within it. His labored breathes mixed with the howling storm as Rick tried to level his adrenaline. Shuffling back into her clothing as Rick pulled himself together, Michonne stilled.

Rick shot back up in the bed, “What is it?”

She didn’t say anything, just stared at the corner of the room next to the window.

“Michonne,” Rick tried again not daring to peek behind him to what she was so transfixed upon. Her eyes snapped to him.

“Nothing, just some shadows playing tricks,” her face softened and she even smiled before walking towards him, leaning her hands on his thighs and kissing him softly, “It’s just an old house braving a storm. There’s nothing to worry about.” She crawled over him, before shifting to her side, ready for sleep. Rick lay on his back, resisting the urge to look in his periphery and face the provoking corner. Between her deepening breaths he was aware of a sound that didn’t belong to either of them. The hollow drawl resonated in his ears, until it throbbed from within his own head.

* * *

***

The room that he and Carol had taken was very small. Daryl figured it was probably a child’s room, even the bed was cramped and he could feel Carol pressed up against his back. He had been asleep for quite some time, but it was always hard for him to rest when they were in such unfamiliar territory. Usually he liked to be on watch during nights like this, but he was scheduled for last rounds giving him a solid six hours of sleep. When Carol nuzzled in between his shoulder blades, her hair tickling the nape of his neck he knew she was awake too.

He kept motionless though, hoping that if he didn’t respond she’d go back to sleep. He knew she needed it, her body mostly healed from Atlanta, but still requiring care and gentleness. Slowly her hand nudged underneath his arm, dragging across his ribs. Cold fingers settled between the buttons of his shirt, causing him to startle at the contact on his warm skin.

“Carol,” he mumbled, “We gotta sleep, this ain’t the time for that.”

She withdrew, tracing up his chest to his shoulder. Her hand traveled down the length of his arm, and he shivered at the chill. Pressing harder against his back, she plucked across his fingers, and ghosted over his crotch.

“C’mon Carol, cut it out,” he growled, his attempt to keep the desire from his voice failing.

“Daryl?” her voice was much farther away and alert than he expected. Whipping his head around, he saw that she was standing in the doorway. The bed was empty beside him. Daryl scrambled up towards the head board, his heart racing with a newfound fear as she approached.

“Are you okay?” she looked just as terrified as he felt. He reached towards her, grasping her wrists and brushed against her pulse. She was real and solid, but so were the touches he just felt.

“Daryl, stop. You’re freaking me out, are you okay?”

He continued to gape at her, pressing his fingers further into her wrists until she jerked them away from him in pain. “I-I’m sorry,” she could hear the panic in his voice as she rubbed at her bruising wrist.

“Why weren’t you in bed?” he demanded shortly, oscillating between terror and concern.

“Couldn’t sleep so I let Michonne off watch. I was just doing a round up here and I heard you talking to yourself. Never heard you talk in your sleep before so I thought maybe something was wrong.”

“I thought you were trying to…” he let the words trail off, finally noticing as she attended to her injury. She winced instinctively when he went to take her hands in his and guilt engulfed him.

“Go back to sleep,” her voice softened when his expression shadowed over with remorse.

“Nah, I’ll stay up with you,” he made to get out of the bed, ready to grab his crossbow from the floor and get away from the stifling room.

“You’ve still got three and a half hours until your watch. You need to sleep, Pookie.”

Daryl brushed off her concern, rising from the floor and walking past her into the hallway, instantly feeling lighter with the more distance he placed between himself and the room. Carol followed quickly behind him, asserting him to at least sleep on the living room floor while she sat on watch.

She had never seen Daryl so shaken before and it set her nerves on edge. Silently they huddled together against the foot of the stairs, clutching their weapons in their hands and pressing their sides to each other. Daryl kept his fingers against her thigh, coveting whatever minimal human contact he could get.

A door slammed in the direction they had come from, and hesitantly they both looked back up, peering to the top of the dark staircase. “It was the wind,” Carol suggested without any conviction.


End file.
